Friday, November 8, 2013

Mumbai Chhi Bai!

I wrote this piece for my friend ( the very competent editor of Lokmat's Deepotsav 2013) Aparna Velankar.

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Mumbaichhi bai

As an impressionable and highly curious
young girl aged 10, who had moved from Delhi to Mumbai rather abruptly, I was
entirely unprepared for the culture shock that awaited me in this throbbing,
insane, electrifying city that actually belongs to no one. Bombay (that later
became Mumbai), is very much its own person – and that is both, its strength
and beauty. And perhaps, the reason for its downfall, too. Whoever tries to own
or control Mumbai, eventually faces defeat. Which is why, Mumbai continues to
exercise such an overwhelming influence over me. And I suppose, also over all
those who call it home. Mumbai always reminds me of a wild, untamed, gorgeous
mare, galloping across rivers and mountains, as greedy bandits chase her
fruitlessly, even as she remains permanently outside their grasp. Mumbai has a
hypnotic effect on the unwary. Nobody ever leaves Mumbai. It is like a drug,
and we are all addicts who are not looking for a cure! So, when I was referred
to as a Mumbaichhi Bai recently, I took that as a supreme compliment. Of
course, I am a Mumbaichhi Bai – thank you, very much!

The first Mumbaichhi Bai I ever met,
however, was a Koli woman who’d come to our home at Churchgate every Saturday
morning to try and sell her catch of fresh, plump pomfret fish. In Delhi,
pomfret was not easily available. And we were not a die hard fish eating family
in the first place. If the fish per se held no fascination for me, the fiery
tempered woman haggling with my aie, certainly did. She was an asli
professional. A true-blue working woman of
Mumbai. Remember , this was over 50 years ago. But I recall being
awestruck by this pomfret seller’s super confident attitude. She worked hard
and long, carrying a heavy basket of fish on her head. She was her own
marketing manager and P.R.person. She
operated in a highly competitive field. Her sales strategy and pricing had to
be bloody good for her to stay ahead of the rest. To cap it all, she also
looked fabulous! She was strong and fit without going to a gym. Her skin glowed
minus botox and facials. And she had more style in the way she put herself
together than several city socialites wearing Sabya’s latest ensemble. She
didn’t need a designer handbag – her money was tucked into her ample bosom! As
for her wealth – she wore most of it on her person! At least half a kilo of
solid gold adorned this Kolin. And I can assure you, she had more jewellery
than my own mother. But beyond the dazzling display of gold, and well beyond
her colourful language peppered with choice Marathi abuse, it was her no-nonsense attitude that left a deep
impression on me.

Then there was Tulsi – a middle aged widow
who worked as house help in our home and supported a family back in the village.
Not only was Tulsi a reliable assistant to my mother in the kitchen, but she
also doubled up as a weekend electrician , carpenter and plumber. There was
virtually nothing Tulsi couldn’t do! At one point, when my sister Mandakini was
learning how to drive, I was sure Tulsi also wanted to take a few driving
lessons. That would have made her the only driver clad in a nine-yard kashta
saree! Again, it was Tulsi’s indomitable, never-say-die spirit that I grew up
admiring. Tulsi would prepare my Bournvita at 5 a.m. when as a young athlete, I
would leave for my intensive training camps at dawn, often when there was
little or no light outside. I’d be wearing shorts and a t-shirt, my hair tied
neatly in a pony tail. I would walk to Azad Maidan a kilometer or so away from
home, close to Dhobi Talao and Metro Cinema. The streets used to be
semi-deserted and silent. Yet, I never felt insecure or afraid. Getting back, I
would see hundreds of women emerging from Churchgate Station and heading to
work. It was such a familiar sight, I never stopped to actually think about its
deeper significance. I took it for granted from that age itself that women in
Bombay worked hard and were entirely safe in the city. The vision of the
original Mumbaichhi Bai, in that sense, remains intact and unchanged even
today. Yes, even after the horrific gangrape in the Shakti Mills compound..

In
all honesty, I cannot say my confidence
wasn’t temporarily dented after the incident. Perhaps, not for myself, but
certainly for my daughters. I have tried my best to conceal my anxiety from
them. I don’t want them to be disillusioned, either by Mumbai or their own
ambitions. I want them to continue to believe they can get ahead in life – the
same way, I did. Without looking over their shoulders for potential rapists or
assaulters carrying blades /acid / broken bottles. Why live in a permanent
state of fear suspecting every second man? What good is panic in an emergency?
But, one part of me warns : “ Don’t be so idealistic, unrealistic and
impractical. Mumbai today is not the city you grew up in. Mumbai has changed.
It is brutal and uncaring ”. The other part dismisses such negative thoughts
and says : “Cities may change, but people never do. Our Mumbaikars are
different. They have fellow feelings. They care!” Sometimes It’s hard to
convince myself. So, imagine how much harder it is to convince my daughters.

As a Mumbaichhi Bai I owe it to myself and
to society at large, not to give up. To keep dreams and hope alive, despite the
daunting, depressing developments I see around me.Tough times demand tough
solutions. I don’t possess those solutions right now. But that doesn’t matter.
Mumbai has indeed been rudely shaken up. The rest of India is looking at our
city and jeering : “See! Mumbai is no different from us. Working women are
targeted here as well. There’s no need to continue fooling us that Mumbai looks
after its female work force. That women can travel freely and safely at any
hour of the day or night. That a woman
can dress the way she wants to. Eat and drink , dance and sing. Enjoy life on her own terms . Just like men.
Forget it! Mumbai is like any other city in India – dangerous. And women are
the softest targets here. They should stay home and keep their mouths shut. Or
else….” I would hate to write Mumbbai’s obituary. For by acknowledging that the
old Mumbai is dead (murdered by anti-social elements), I will also be admitting
that the Mumbaichhi Bai is conceding defeat. Over my dead body!

11 comments:

The word "Bai" reminds me of my mother's experience of using it for the first time in Lucknow after spending years together in Bhopal addressing to a random vegetable vendor..the same which was acceptable at large in M.P. turned out to be highly objectionable in the north.Loved your post Mam!

Loved it! Brought back memories of kolin. I knew several...back home. We didn't eat fish, but our neighbours did and I was witness to the haggling over the price. Brought back memories of the scent of the flowers they wear in their ambada - aboli and shevanticha gajra.

In Cochin where I grew up we called our servant maids 'bai' because though they spoke tulu they all originated from Maharashtra & they wouldn't tolerate any other way of addressing.Regarding safety of women you wouldn't have forgotten Keenan & Reuben. It too happened in Mumbai, in front of many 'onlookers'. The 'fast track courts' haven't done any justice to them. Why would people behave if they can get away with anything. The anniversary of Nirbhaya's horror episode is round the corner. No politician addresses this issue. During the past years Hindustan has become rapistan. No election speech even mentions this or gives assurances that full security will be given for the daughters & sisters of this country who go to work. Women's issues seem to be non issues for all.

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